by Amy Cross
"Let me see her!" Sophie calls out, exhausted.
The old woman ignores her, as Patrick comes over to look at the child.
"It's a girl," the old woman says. She starts cleaning the baby, and after a few minutes she wraps it in a blanket. "She should be with her mother," she says as the child wriggles. "It's not right to separate them". Turning, she carries the baby over to Sophie, carefully placing her in her mother's arms. "You don't have long," she tells her. "He'll take her soon".
"He won't," Sophie says, still out of breath. "I won't let him".
"If you fight him, he'll kill you," the old woman replies.
"He can't have her," Sophie insists, holding the child tight.
"Name her," the old woman says. "Before he takes her, give her a name".
Sophie looks down at her daughter's face. "Abigail," she says after a moment. "It was my grandmother's name".
"It's nice," the old woman says. As she looks at the child's tiny, scrunched up face, she becomes aware of Patrick coming closer. Turning, she sees him waiting. "You can wait a few more minutes, can't you?" she says. "Give the girl a chance to be with her mother".
"You're not taking her," Sophie says defiantly.
"Don't fight him," the old woman says, stepping out of the way. She knows that the situation is futile. Patrick always gets what he wants.
"Fuck you!" Sophie shouts at Patrick as he reaches out to take Abigail. "No!" She tries to get away, but Patrick is able to force Abigail out of her arms. "Give her back to me!" Sophie shouts, but she's too weak to do anything. "Please!" she says, tears streaming down her face. "I just want to hold her!"
Slowly, Patrick carries Abigail over to the entrance.
"You can't take her out there!" Sophie shouts. "It's freezing! You'll kill her!"
"He knows what he's doing," the old woman says, trying to calm her. "She'll come to no harm".
"Bring her back!" Sophie shouts as Patrick disappears into the blizzard. After a moment, he can no longer be seen ."Come back!" Sophie screams.
"It's okay," the old woman says, giving Sophie a cup of liquid. "Drink this, and you'll feel better".
Sophie drinks from the cup, but after a moment she becomes suspicious. "What is this?" she asks.
"You won't remember anything that has happened to you since you left Gothos," the old woman tells her. "In a few minutes, you'll pass out. I'll patch you up and make sure you're okay, and then I'll have you delivered back to the world. You'll never even remember that Abigail was born, but at least you won't live with the memory of having lost her".
With tears still streaming down her cheeks, Sophie shakes her head. "It won't work," she says firmly. "You can't make me forget her. I don't care what's in here!" She throws the cup, which smashes against the wall.
"It's for the best," the old woman says, taking a seat so she can wait until Sophie succumbs to the potion. "Would you rather live the rest of your life in sorrow, mourning the loss of your child? Patrick will look after her".
Sophie tries to get up, but she's starting to feel weak. "I've got to go after him," she says, her words starting to become slurred. She reaches out to grab the old woman, but suddenly she finds it hard to move her body. "You don't - " she starts to say, but finally she collapses.
"Everything will be okay," the old woman says, standing up and walking over to the bench in the corner. She picks out a needle, some medical thread and a suture kit, before heading back over to Sophie. "Patrick won't let anything happen to her," she continues as she attaches the thread to the needle. She reaches between Sophie's legs and carefully slips the needle into her, to sew up the torn skin. "You'll see," she adds with a curious smile. "Just wait and see".
Chapter One
Dedston, Today.
When the others are around, he pretends to be unconscious. But when it's just me and him...
My father is chained to the wall, pinned into place by a huge metal stake that runs across the room and pierces his chest. The Watchers have done this to him, because they believe it would be too dangerous to have him let loose. That's what they tell me, anyway: my father is too dangerous, too much of a monster. In order to keep him subdued, they use the stake to constantly inflict new wounds to his body, which means he's too weak to break free. In theory, he should be unconscious during all of this, but every time the Watchers leave the room, he opens his eyes and looks at me. He doesn't say anything; he just stares, and I stare back at him, and I try to listen to the silence between us in case I get a hint of what he's thinking. Sometimes, just for a moment, I think I hear him screaming.
"Your father is extremely powerful," Benjamin says as he enters the room and comes to stand next to me. "It took us a long time to work out how to subdue him, but this turned out to be the best option".
I watch Patrick's face carefully. He looks to be unconscious, but I know he's listening to us talk. I can sense his mind; I can feel him in the room.
"I know this must look unnecessarily cruel," Benjamin continues, "but I want you to know that it's the only solution. We tried so many other options first. We attempted to communicate with him, to persuade him to listen to us, but ultimately he left us no choice. It's not his fault. He's simply unable to control the darker, more violent side of his personality". He turns to me. "I know he looks like a man, but he's really a beast. Don't let your eyes play tricks on you. There's not a hint of humanity in his body".
"So what would he do if you let him loose?" I ask, still keeping my eyes firmly trained on Patrick's face. I still don't like my voice; I sound a little too high-pitched.
"It's hard to say for certain," Benjamin continues. "Certainly, he'd kill me, and probably everyone else here. He has a particular taste for vengeance. Todd, Shelley, the technicians... he'd most likely kill them as well. The only one he'd leave alive would be you, Abby. For obvious reasons".
I take a deep breath. "To be honest," I say after a moment, "I think I'd kill you too, if you'd staked me to a wall like this".
"We're working on a plan," he replies. "We don't intend to keep him like this forever, but we need to be very careful about how and when we turn him loose. The most important thing is that he must have time to teach you the things you need to know before it's too late".
"Why would it be too late?" I ask.
He pauses for a moment. "Because he's dying. It's nothing to do with us. A few months ago, he initiated an innate biological process that has begun to break down his body. All vampires have this ability to start dying. It's irreversible. He decided it's his time, and now he has five, maybe six months left". He takes a deep breath. "It's my opinion that he made this decision because he knew you'd soon reach the point at which you're ready to mature and replace him".
"He's killing himself?" I say, shocked at the thought that I might lose my father so soon after I've found him.
"It's his time," Benjamin says. "In fact, it was probably his time many years ago, but he held on because he wanted to have a child. There was a prophecy that had to be fulfilled. That prophecy is now over, and we're all in a transition phase. The Age of Chaos is coming, and none of us can be sure what will happen next, but Patrick most certainly will be gone".
"Sir," says a voice from the door, as a technician enters. "One of the sensors is showing unusual levels".
"I'll be back," Benjamin says, patting me on the shoulder - like I'm a child - as he heads out with the technician.
I walk across the room, approaching Patrick. He looks so weak and helpless right now, with a steady stream of blood constantly dripping from the wound where the stake enters his chest. To be honest, I feel like I'm still in a state of shock. Any moment, the realization of what's going on here will hit me, and I fully expect to burst into tears and have some kind of breakdown. Either that, or I'll wake up in my bed back in Culleton and I'll realize that this was all a dream. For now, though, I seem to be finding some kind of inner strength from a part of me that I didn't know existed. It almost feels as if there's some new pa
rt of my soul, slowly waking up inside my body after a long, deep sleep. I feel different somehow.
"It's me," I say, my voice echoing in the large room.
Slowly, Patrick opens his eyes and stares at me. I've been told that he never speaks, which I guess is gonna make our conversations a little difficult.
"Is it true?" I ask. "Just nod if it's true, and shake your head if it's not. Are you really dying?"
He doesn't respond. He just keeps staring at me.
"Why would you do that?" I ask. "Why would you choose to start dying, when you hadn't even met me? Didn't you want to..." I pause for a moment. The last thing I want to do is come across as some angsty teenager. Fighting back the tears, I force myself to maintain a blank expression. "I mean, I'm in danger of getting some serious abandonment issues here," I continue, hoping that he might show some kind of response. I stare at him. "Can you even hear me? Are you listening to what I'm saying?"
No response. Nothing. Just those dark, old eyes staring straight into my soul.
"What do you want?" I ask eventually. "Do you just want to die, or is there something else? They..." I look over at the door, to make sure we're still alone. "They say you're dangerous," I continue, turning back to him. "They say you'll kill them all if you're released. Is that true?" I wait for a response. "I don't believe them," I say eventually. "I don't think you're a killer. I don't think you'd kill anyone unless they really deserved it".
For a moment, I think I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it's soon gone and I guess that in my desperation I probably imagined it. I just want some sign of a connection.
"Wait here," I say, turning and taking a couple of steps away before putting my arms around the stake. With all my strength, I try to pull it away from him. After all, if I'm his daughter, maybe I've inherited some of his strength. Unfortunately, I can't make the damn thing budge at all. No matter how hard I try, it feels like it's rammed pretty permanently into his chest; eventually, I lose my grip and fall to the floor. "Fuck it!" I say as I get back up. I feel like -
Suddenly an image flashes into my mind: it's Patrick, stumbling through a blizzard. He's carrying something in his arms, some kind of package or bundle. The snow is so thick, he can barely walk, and he -
As soon as the image arrived, it's gone again.
"Is everything okay in here?" asks Benjamin as he comes back through.
"Fine," I say, deciding to keep the image to myself for now. I guess I can ask Shelley about it later. "I was just... You know, hanging out and stuff".
He smiles. I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what I was doing. I mean, a place like this probably has a ton of cameras and sensors everywhere. Still, what does he expect me to do? Does he think I'm supposed to not try to help my father when he's being held against his will? What kind of a daughter would just let this stuff happen?
"So when are you gonna let him go?" I ask.
"When the time is right," Benjamin replies.
"Which is when?"
"I don't know yet," he says. "We can't afford to make any mistakes".
"Who decides?" I ask.
"I do".
"But you are going to let him out of here, right?" I say. "You're not going to just leave him like this until he dies?"
"No," he says. "There's an active discussion going on between the members of our team, as to when would be the right moment to let Patrick loose again". He steps closer to my father, whose eyes are closed again. "Did he respond at all when you were talking to him?"
"No," I say. It's a lie, but I kind of like the idea that I know something this guy doesn't know. That brief moment of eye contact was the only contact I've really had with Patrick so far, and it feels like a secret between the two of us.
"I didn't think he'd show any sign of recognizing you," Benjamin replies. "We've been monitoring his brainwaves and he seems to be very subdued. I'm sorry to say that he probably doesn't even know you're here".
"I guess not," I say.
"That time will come," he continues. "For now, I imagine you'd like to learn more about your lineage. We have a great many reference works that can give you an idea of your father's history and the history of the vampire race in general".
There's that word again. Vampire. Since I got here, these people have been acting as if vampires are real, but I still can't quite get my head around it. To me, vampires are creatures in books and films, and it's almost impossible to believe that they could ever exist. Then again, everything about Dedston and these Watcher guys seems to be totally insane, so I guess I have to learn to start believing impossible things. Somehow, though, I feel as if it's all true. I don't know why, but it all seems to make sense to me. For the first time in my life, it's as if I understand where I come from. This feels right.
"Can I go for a walk?" I say, turning to Benjamin. "There's a whole town here, isn't there? I want to go and look around Dedston".
"Not right now," he replies. "You'll need to be accompanied at all times, and Todd isn't available currently. When he gets back, I'm sure he'll be only too happy to take you for a short trip?"
"So I can't go alone?" I ask.
"I'm afraid not".
I look over at Patrick. "So I'm a prisoner here," I say. "Just like him".
"It's for your own safety," he replies. "You saw those Tenderlings at the diner. Believe me, they're nothing compared to some of the other creatures that would like to get their hands on the daughter of the last vampire. You're a very special girl, Abby. Even a sample of your hair, or a flake of your skin, is more valuable than all the gold and silver in the world. You simply can't go wandering about by yourself".
I shrug. "Okay. I guess I'll just hang out here for a while and then I'll come and take a look at those books you mentioned".
"I'll go and tell our archivist that you're ready," he says, turning and heading for the door.
Once he's gone, I walk quickly back over to Patrick. "Can you hear me?" I whisper, looking up into his face. Once again, he slowly opens his eyes and stares at me. "I don't know if you understand what I'm saying," I tell him, keeping my voice down as low as possible, "but I'm going to get your out of here. I don't know how, but I'm going to get this thing out of your chest. Okay?" I wait for some kind of response, but there's nothing. "You just have to promise me one thing," I tell him. "You have to promise me that you won't kill them when you're free". I pause, knowing that there's no chance he'll actually reply to me. "I'm going to trust you," I tell him. "Give me time to figure out how to get you free". I reach up and brush my right hand against his face. It's the first time I've ever touched my father; although he looks young, his skin feels old. Realizing I'm never going to get a proper response from him, at least not in his current state, I turn and walk toward the door.
"Abigail," whispers a voice behind me.
I freeze, feeling a chill as if all my blood has suddenly turned to ice. Turning slowly, I see that Patrick's eyes are closed again. That voice didn't sound as if it came from him; it sounded like a whisper, right up close to my ear, maybe even inside my head. It was a male voice, deep and ancient. But there's no-one else in here: there's just Patrick, and me.
I wait, but nothing else happens and the room remains silent. Slowly, I head over to the door. Did I imagine all of that, or did Patrick just say my name? Taking a deep breath, I make sure to pull myself together before walking through to the next room, where technicians are working on the various machines that are being used to keep Patrick in place. Part of me wants to smash those machines to pieces, but I figure I need to be a little more subtle here; if I'm gonna get my father out of here, I'm gonna need to be a lot smarter. Behind me, as I walk away, I sense great pain. He's in pain. Patrick, my father, is going through agony, and I'm the only one who can hear him scream. I guess that makes sense. After all, I'm the vampire's daughter.
Chapter Two
Walking between the gravestones, I find myself stopping to read - and study - each one. I look at the dates and work out h
ow old the person was when they died. Sometimes, there are short testimonials to the life of the deceased, noting that someone was a devoted husband or wife, or mentioning that they died in war; sometimes, there's nothing but a name and a set of dates, which makes me wonder whether the person died alone. One gravestone is completely covered in moss, to the point where it's impossible to read the name or date. Kneeling down, I start trying to pull the moss away. It takes me twenty minutes, but eventually I manage to read the name. For some reason, I decide to stay where I am and keep pulling the moss from the stone. I guess I'm hoping to completely clean this gravestone, so that it'll look perfect and pristine when I'm finished. I keep doing this for nearly an hour, until finally - just as I'm close to being finished - I realize why I'm doing what I'm doing. Sighing, I sit back for a moment. I'm delaying the inevitable. I stand up and continue walking. I've already put this off for too long.
Sophie's grave is over by the wall. In my head, I imagined it being this really new, freshly dug grave, but the truth is that it's been sixteen years since Sophie died and her body was placed here, so the newness of the plot has faded. I've imagined this moment over and over again, but I always managed to find an excuse to stay in New York instead of coming back to Dedston to see where my best friend was buried. It looks like just another old grave, except the letters on the headstone send a shiver down my spine when I see Sophie's name. Looking down at the grass, I imagine her body six feet under, trapped in a wooden box. After sixteen years, she'll have rotted away to just bones by now, all her skin gone. She was buried, I've been told, in an old white gown that had originally belonged to her grandmother. The funeral was sparsely attended, and apparently Sophie's mother broke down in tears. I was supposed to attend, but at the last minute I got cold feet and decided to stay in New York. It's a decision I regret now, because I kind of feel that Sophie - resting in her coffin - would have liked it if I'd been here. In some way, maybe my presence would have made her less scared. I know that's crazy, but I can't shake the feeling that I let her down.
